2006-04-03 - 6:02 p.m.
Poor old me! You will have noticed that I have not updated in a bit, but that is because I have been so horribly, ickily sick. It’s been disgusting! How I have vomited. And how my stomach has been aching, aching, aching even when I haven’t been vomiting! I swear to Baby Jesus that I simply have the very worst stomach that anyone has ever had. It is much less of a stomach than it is a whiny, revolting bucket of bile that more often vomits up its food than digests it. And this has been going on for a week or so! It is exceptionally odious.
And as you can imagine, it has quite affected my poor little mind, preventing me from being my usual brilliant self. I just want to sleep. I think I have been sleeping something like 14 hours a day for the past week. It’s been lovely, I must tell you! I love to sleep. It’s better than being awake really. But if you want to know why I haven’t written to you – and why, now I am writing to you, that this is such a frigging boring entry, well, my dearest blog-a-licious blog, my stomach ache would be why.
Someday the doctors will discover that I have something perfectly horrible in my stomach – a cancer or a gigantic slug or a fatal disease or something – and that is why I am always feeling like I do. Right now, though, even though I have been subjected to more stomach tests than there are stars in the heavens, no one knows anything. I am, what is the word, “idiopathic”, which means that I have symptoms of something that they don’t know what they are.
And so my poor stomach suffers. It pounds. It roils! It does these flips and flops in my belly, like a bouncing baby boy. It is horrible! Also, irritating enough, this is the first weekend that I have had a full schedule of play and movie screenings in a while – so I have been forced to trudge all over the city, even with this damned stomach of mine. Well, I can hardly leave it at home, now can I?
-jd-
I only just returned from watching this three hour documentary about Buddhism, so I think you will excuse me if I say that I am feeling exceptionally virtuous. It is a funny thing about Buddhism: You don’t have to actually know anything about the religion to feel as though you are practicing it. Yes, as I learned in movie, there is no way of truly mastering the religion – there are the 500 koans of the golden gloof, and 200 roans of the silver bloof, and after mastering those, you have to learn the secrets of the great Deity Halvahbuddhahartha.
In fact, the movie was so long it almost left you feeling as though just watching it took 10 reincarnations to watch it all -- and at the end of it, you were entitled to call yourself Johnnydarlingbuddha yourself. There were sequences of about 20 minutes of nothing transpiring but Buddhist monks sitting on couches croaking at each other. I found the movie incredibly useful as a meditation tool. However, I acknowledge that it was the kind of meditation that we in the Unenlightened West call “A Nap.”
I do wish I was a bit more Buddhist in my outlook, though. How odious it is to be assailed by the temptations of the flesh! All I really wish to do is seek detatchment and to reach a plateau of inner peace that allows me to abandon all connection to Earthly desires. Of course, I have to say that judging from this movie, all that these Buddhist monks do is replace detatchment with self absorption. You never saw a bunch of more prideful, ridiculous fellows.
Meanwhile, it is a strange thing, but I seem to have been utterly abandoned by three of my closest online friends, almost simultaneously. I wish I could tell you the reasons why this has happened. Given that I am so exceedingly neurotic, my first impulse is to wonder what I’ve done wrong to be so utterly vacated by three gentlemen who often used to spend hours upon hours of time with me, yattering it up about nothing in particular. I will have you know that I am a delightful on line friend! You would be lucky, dear Blog-a-licious Blog, to have someone as erudite and as charming as I am as your Internet correspondent.
All the years I have spent glittering at various coffeehouses and writing pithy little bon mots hither and thither have proved useful in crafting in me as subtle a mix of superficial cleverness and false gravitas as you could ever want to meet on line. And yet, I seem to be the friend equivalent of Halvah or of Funnel Cakes. Halvah and.or Funnel Cakes are yummy things, but it seems that one does not want a steady diet of the them. I am feeling rather like the three on line friends who have abandoned me have all decided that I am somehow lacking in something or other. You sense they think that my emotional nutritive value is missing a crucial ingredient that they want in their diet. Ah well!
First to depart has been my long time friend Flloyd, about whom I have written often. It seems, you see, that he has found himself a boyfriend. Very nice for him, I have no doubt! But this wretched so-called boyfriend seems to have slurped up his life to the extent that he has no time for his Old Friends such as myself. Am I jealous? Certainly not. I would not need to date Flloyd. But, really, friends do get shoved aside when some odious boyfriend hits the scene. And so, once again, a friend has drifted away upon picking up a lover. It happens often enough I just shrug my shoulders. Just look at me: There I go – shrug shrug shrug.
My understanding is that the boyfriend has allowed Flloyd to move into his place, thus granting him the welcome opportunity to flee the run down garret in his parents’ place in which he had been imprisoned up until then. Good for him, I reckon – but time spent candoodling and in Building A Relationship is time subtracted from other acquaintances, such as myself.
Would it be a wicked and a wretched thing to voice the opinion that the sooner the two men break up, the sooner I shall be delighted to welcome Flloyd back to the fold? I suppose so. I mean, when you think of it, how can some wretched old piece of manpussy compare to the cerebral delights that is conversation with Johnny Darling? It is outrageous to be thusly snubbed.
Meanwhile, the second friend to take the Cure From Johnny Darling is none other than Ganesh, the young fellow with whom I went bar crawling not a few weeks ago. It was a mere matter of a week or two ago that he suddenly stopped chatting me up – and his replies when I sent him a note or two have declined to a curt, merely brusque grunt or two.
When quizzed about his disappearance, dear Master Ganesh has admitted that he has of late stumbled onto a gay bar in his Redondo Beach neighborhood, and he has been spending a great deal of time there, making numerous new friends and even tricking with the bartender once or twice. About Ganesh’s departure, I am somewhat more ambivalent. It was clear that I was just an erstwhile pal for him, while he searched out and found friends who are more congenial to his type and personality. And of course there is my suspicion that he somehow found my blog, and read a recent entry in which I retold his saucy life story, which I considered terribly dramatic and well worth recounting. If that is the case – oh well. For, as you know, dearest Big Blue Blog-a-roo, this blog is my life, while the things I do during the day are just me existing. So if my blog offends someone to the extent that he or she feels it necessary to cut me off… Well, I consider it totally worth it!
The third on line pal to ditch me is none other than the Superstar Twink, though he has not so much ditched me as he has, well, I don’t really know what he’s done. And I am exaggerating when I say he’s “cut me off.” He hasn’t: Just the other day, he sent me a very nice chirp to something I wrote. He just seems to have downgraded me in importance, which is irksome. I don’t delude myself, though: I was never that important. I was an easy come, easy go pal, and now I have merely outlived my usefulness, I suspect. I mean, there he is now, right there on my buddylist. Is he saying “howdy?” No! He is not even replying to my occasional “hellos.”
Meanwhile, one of the few online pals who have NOT cut me off has announced that he is a paranoid schizophrenic! Isn’t that lovely? I’m talking now about that silly Kansas skin head boy about whom I have often written, though these days he is neither a skinhead nor residing in Kansas. He now lives in Florida, where he is the Houseboy for a (reportedly) enormously obese and somewhat abusive rich guy who lives in a house with a garden.
The kid has told me that he decided to stop taking the meds that he regularly doses himself with, because they make him feel anesthetized. He stopped taking these pills about a week or two ago – and I have to admit, his conversations have become increasingly surreal and bizarre, almost approaching poetry. I actually greatly enjoy talking to him these days, when before I found him rather dim and hard to take. I would quote bits of his conversation, but I didn’t save the IMs, but trust me – someone could set them to rock music and have a hit song on their hands.
Anyway, when the few people who are willing to keep chatting with me turn out to be paranoid schizophrenics, perhaps it is time to say goodbye for the day. I am sorry about the lackluster quality of this blog entry, really I am! But I have been ill. I promise to do better next time.
